Chapter 89
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On stage.
Ludwig van Beethoven stood before the podium.
His back was to the audience, but he could hear even their breathing, the sound of them swallowing.
He thought he had already grown used to it, but the feeling of sinking alone into the void always brought a touch of sorrow to one side of his heart.
He swept back his hair and looked at the score.
The black notes writhing on the staff paper.
His imagination spread outward, picturing the tiny children as if they were playing separately, then gathering together to form a village, then a city, a nation, and even a world.
But in the place where those children would grow up.
In the village, in the city, in the nation, in the world.
Was there a place for him?
The moment such thoughts flashed through Beethoven's mind.
Swish.
Umlauf, who had willingly accepted the ironic title of chief conductor, stood beside Beethoven and gently patted his shoulder.
The many performers were looking at Umlauf, and at him.
No, that was wrong.
Today, he was by no means alone.
Did he not have so many comrades to run through this splendid world with him!
Come, let's go.
Even if I can no longer hear.
Let the heavenly sound I have forged reach everyone.
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“Brother…… your ideas are rather unique. Quite impressive.”
“For a mere writer to receive such praise is more than I deserve. I am always grateful, thinking of the Goddess’s grace. And, of course, to our Saintess as well.”
“That child Roseline has such an unusual personality. I’m not sure how you managed to bewitch her.”
“Bewitch her? That is far too much. She broke my arm just the other day, too.”
“My, my. Roseline’s habit is to swing first whenever she spots something unholy.”
“The way you say it sounds exactly like I was the one being unholy. I’m quite a devout man, you know.”
“Devout, you say? Then let me ask directly. The way religion is portrayed in that play, and in the novel you are writing now… from the Church of the Goddess’s point of view, it is deeply concerning. People only see what they want to see. That is why, if possible, I would sincerely ask that you refrain from depicting the Church of the Goddess, and especially those aspects of religion that could make it look negative.”
“The way you say that… it sounds as though I’ve demonized religion.”
“I doubt you would deny that, rather than showing a pious side, you depicted it as being swayed by vested interests and tainted, to some extent, by corruption and bribery, Brother.”
“High Priest… every coin has a front and a back. Even if I portrayed the dark side, can that really be a sin?”
The High Priest stared silently at Kim Yul.
Was this man truly the figure from the prophecy—the man who could stand before him and state his convictions so boldly and without hesitation?
If so…….
“That is because it is our duty as the Goddess’s representative, Brother.”
As the Goddess’s representative.
There was a duty to purify.
“Then I have no choice but to say this as well.”
Kim Yul let out a sigh.
“What I want to say to Your Eminence is that I put it all into today’s music. Although I did not compose it myself, I can confidently say it contains sufficient tribute to humanity—and to the Goddess.”
“I look forward to it, brother. You must be busy with the preparations, so let us postpone the rest until after we have enjoyed the performance.”
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A not-too-brisk allegro, with just a touch of majesty.
Allegro ma non troppo, un poco maestoso.
The horns spun out unfamiliar fifth chords, and with the vibrations pulsing at Beethoven’s toes.
In his mind.
In the minds of the audience, the universe began to awaken.
There was light, and day and night were divided.
He divided the waters to shape the heavens, gathered the waters to make the sea, and revealed the waters to make plants bloom.
And that was not all.
Out of the mist, vast mountain ranges rose, and lightning struck, shaking the earth as if blessing the moment of creation.
Yet in the silence that accompanied every one of those moments.
Beethoven thrust the hand holding the baton roughly into the air.
Through the vibrations that reached his toes, growing fiercer and then easing.
Through the performers’ artistry moving at the tip of his baton.
The tremolo of the strings.
The roar of the wind instruments.
Beethoven bent forward, then surged upright again.
As if, having completed the creation of heaven and earth, he had become the creator who took a brief interlude before at last shaping sound.
His brain was composing, performing, and savoring the music more vividly and magnificently than anyone else there.
And then.
Very lively.
Molto Vivace.
Thump! Thump!
The scherzo’s opening shattered the grand atmosphere in an instant.
It painted the stage with the primitive dance of ancient giants, joyfully stamping the earth as if they had existed since the dawn of time.
Some people felt innocent delight in it.
Others felt a tremor born of an unknown fear.
But the source of all those emotions was one and the same.
For it was the quill—or rather, the baton—flying from the fingertips of a genius.
An idea unlike anything in any symphony he had ever composed filled the stage and overflowed into the audience.
Like the chariot led by Poseidon.
The fugato intertwined and entangled itself, racing across the ocean.
And when the horses were growing tired, like the song of longing sung by sirens.
The woodwinds whispered a soft melody.
Beethoven’s expression, while waving the baton, softened slightly.
A walk through the Vienna Woods.
Sunlight filtering through the leaves.
The birdsong he had loved so dearly before he lost his hearing.
And in that gap.
- I love you, Ludwig.
The wistful ache left behind by the Immortal Beloved, faintly echoing.
The moment the thought reached that far.
As if mercilessly trampling that fleeting peace, a rough rhythm crashed in and began racing again.
A storm raged through.
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And then, once more.
Very slowly, and as if singing.
Adagio molto e cantabile.
He had only barely managed to slip back into the imperial capital in secret in time for today.
So he could not sit down and enjoy the performance comfortably.
But as he listened to the violin melody that, after the storm, gently embraced everyone as if offering thanks to God,
Roseline felt, for some reason, as if her eyes were slightly growing red.
So beautiful.
And paradoxically, that was why the pain contained within it felt as though it were being delivered straight to her heart.
If I had to put it into words…….
Having to forcibly send away everything one had loved.
Yet even within that loss, having to move forward without ever breaking.
It was the life of a human.
It was the life of a believer.
It was a timbre that cradled her life as a Saintess.
In fact, looking back.
Roseline had not been that selfless a person.
And so even when she became a Saintess, she had once doubted the Goddess’s will, asking why someone like her had become a Saintess.
Perhaps that was why.
She had, until now, been nothing more than a half-made Saintess.
But.
Leaving the imperial capital had not merely been an attempt to hide from the High Priest.
It had been due to some immense pull, and after a very long time she had gone back to her hometown.
And there, she discovered it.
The holy relic the Goddess had bestowed solely for her—a relic that could make her a true Saintess.
However.
Roseline still had no confidence. No certainty.
Could she truly
fulfill the role of a whole person.
When the plaintive yet gentle melody finally came to an end.
Roseline quietly closed her eyes.
She paid reverent tribute to the way music alone had stirred her emotions so completely.
To Kim Yul, and to Beethoven.
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A silence as peaceful as sleep blanketed the theater, and before that lingering echo could even fade.
A crack formed.
The woodwinds screeched sharply, shattering the peace, and the cello and double bass played a recitative as if they were singing.
And.
The first movement, the second movement, the third movement.
At the end of the process of revisiting the themes of the earlier movements one by one.
The low-register strings finally found their destination.
Simple.
Modest.
They began to sing a melody anyone could hum.
Very lively and fast.
Allegro assai.
At first, very softly.
As if water were welling up from deep underground.
And then, with violas joining in and violins layering over it.
The spring water soon began to flow as a river.
By the time everyone was soaked in the repetition of that gentle melody.
Once again, the fanfare that had appeared at the beginning trampled the calm and forcefully asserted its presence.
And.
Only in the fourth movement did it finally appear.
And the chorus, which had remained quiet until then, changed in an instant.
“O friends──! Not these tones──!”
In a baritone voice.
The moment the declaration to sing a merrier, more joyous song rang out.
“Joy!”
“Joy!”
The chorus rose as one, uniting their voices.
At the grandeur of it, which was almost like a hymn.
All the audience was overwhelmed.
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“Joy, beautiful spark of divinity, daughter of Elysium! Let us all enter the light-filled sanctuary, drunk with passion!”
The annex of the Imperial Palace.
The only voice ruling the vast stage.
Though he had spent days and nights tormented by sleeplessness, fully aware of how weighty the role assigned to him was.
But the moment he stepped onto the stage, all tension flew away and joy filled its place.
He had a feeling.
That tonight’s stage would be one he would never forget for the rest of his life, and that it would remain deeper in his memory than any song he had ever sung, or would ever sing.
The thought lasted only a moment.
Following his lead.
“You, whose power can make those torn apart by cruel reality whole again──”
“Where your wings stay, all mankind shall become brothers──”
The chorus that followed sang of harmony in time with the instruments.
“Let us all rejoice!”
“Indeed, if there is even one earthly soul I can call my own!”
“Yet those who possess not even that shall depart silently, shedding tears!”
The chorus.
Sang of God’s love.
It sang of the person who could stand before God’s love and affirm that they stood entirely alone.
And on the stage, where the chorus had briefly fallen silent.
The performers, united as one, crafted a restrained yet magnificent melody under the conductor’s control.
Be embraced, millions!
Seid umschlungen, Millionen!
After countless hardships and adversities.
Despite the pain of having lost his hearing, as though abandoned by God, he never let go of the thread of hope.
Freedom, equality, and fraternity.
The utopia Beethoven had longed for all his life blossomed in the music.
Mankind, do you realize that God exists?
Ahndest du den Schöpfer, Welt?
Even if God let go of him, Beethoven did not let go of God.
A melody and chorus steeped in immense reverence.
Resounded through the annex of the Imperial Palace, the imperial palace, the imperial capital, and the empire.
That resonance.
Even Grodek, the human-goblin half-blood,
Even Chloe, who could fall asleep within ten seconds whenever she listened to music, but today was suffering from insomnia.
Even Estea, who could boast that she had savored every piece of music ever to exist in the world before she had ever come to love novels.
Silenced.
Made to tremble.
Moved.
At this moment.
All humans, all beings, were brothers.
Alle Menschen werden Brüder.
The emperor, the High Priest, the dragon, the elf, the goblin.
No one was exempt.
On the journey beyond the stars, the High Priest turned his head and looked at Kim Yul.
The man seated a little way away.
Was crying.
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The music ended.
But in Beethoven’s world, it was not yet over.
The resonance was still ringing in his mind, and as he looked at the orchestra setting down their instruments, he kept waving his baton without pause.
Beyond the last page of the score.
He clung to the edge of that joy as though it would last forever.
Inside the theater, frenzy swept in place of silence.
Nobles and commoners alike, musicians and laymen alike, everyone rose from their seats, threw their hats into the air, waved handkerchiefs, stamped their feet, and shouted at the top of their lungs.
Some were in tears.
Some clutched their chests as if they might faint.
Some kept praying without pause.
Some simply offered silent applause.
And yet.
Beethoven could not hear any of it.
He remained turned away, his eyes closed.
Drunk on a stage that was his alone, lost in music that was his alone.
Then.
Caroline, who had been the alto soloist, rose and approached Beethoven, carefully grasping the hem of his clothes.
Only then did Beethoven, pulled out of his own world, see Caroline’s face and stagger back as if startled.
Then Caroline’s hand gently turned Beethoven toward the audience.
At that moment.
Beethoven saw.
Beethoven felt.
Beethoven heard.
Thousands of palms meeting in applause.
Hats scattering wildly through the air.
Handkerchiefs rippling like waves.
The cheers, mouths opened wide as they shouted.
Faces flushed red, veins standing out in their necks as they cried out in acclaim.
To sum it all up.
Joy—Freude.
Beethoven finally understood.
That his suffering had not been in vain.
That his music had reached the world.
His lips trembled, and he drew that uniquely irascible smile.
And then.
A man notorious for his womanizing, who in the end remained a bachelor.
Stubborn to the core, a wreck of a personality, and fiercely self-righteous.
A flawed musician whose hearing had fallen silent.
And yet he was great.
And so he would remain as an immortal name.
Ludwig van Beethoven.
Was there.
(Thank you for reading the novel ‘Beethoven’ so far.)
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Immediately after all the performances ended.
Since it was the premiere, the audience did not know whether the music had truly ended here or whether another movement might still follow.
A silence charged with overwhelming emotion continued.
And.
The baritone stepped forward one pace and sang alone once more.
“Clap your hands, everyone, the play is over!”
Plaudite, amici, comedia finita est!
Only then.
In the place where Beethoven’s name had not yet become known.
Not Kim Yul, not Ulysses.
The name Beethoven rang out with applause.